


Stress Fractures

by elbowsinsidethedoor



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:47:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23875687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elbowsinsidethedoor/pseuds/elbowsinsidethedoor
Summary: Season one era in the library. John's lust and imagination get the better of him on a quiet afternoon.
Relationships: Harold Finch/John Reese
Comments: 22
Kudos: 61





	Stress Fractures

John carefully shifted the heavy book in his lap and he stretched very slightly, turning a page he hadn’t read. Stress Fractures In Titanium. The hardcover’s edges felt … good, appropriate, where they dug into his thighs.

Ridiculous, resorting to this. Hiding his hard-on like a high school kid, but he needed to hide. In his peripheral vision he saw Harold’s glance shift toward him, as he’d guessed it would. The book did its job. Harold’s gaze turned back to whatever was displayed on his monitor. John let his own gaze wander up from the book (safe now that Harold was once again absorbed by his work.) Safe in small doses anyway — if he looked too long Harold would sense the heat of it and turn a questioning look back at him.

Knowing he shouldn’t, but helpless to resist it, John let his fantasy overtake him again — he saw himself displayed for Harold, his butt planted on the desk between the genius and his computer. All of Harold’s attention was bent on studying him instead of the monitor, studying the strained material of his pants. He liked to begin the fantasy this way. Slowly, very slowly.

He was well dressed these days, thanks to Harold. The beautifully tailored clothes gave him pleasure and it turned him on to think Harold liked the sight of him in the expensive suits — really, really liked it. Liked it enough to want to touch. He could practically feel Harold’s deft fingertips tracing the shape of his erection through the fabric. Harold would be restrained, detached in a way, evaluating him with the same expertise and appreciation he had for good cloth. He would judge the hardness, the length, the thickness, his worthiness.

Must stop, he told himself, heat building in his body with a rush as he imagined Harold toying with him. Thank god for navy blue … he was pretty sure it would hide the wet spot.

Another page turn.

Harold would cup his balls in a warm palm, weighing them. John’s body strained subtly, feeling the actual restriction of his hard cock at the same time he imagined Harold requiring him to hold still, demanding he maintain a disciplined posture for … inspection. He would test John’s steadiness by briefly rubbing him, giving him the slightest taste of the friction he was craving … then he would lean in close to look for and feel for moisture.

Stop. He forced his blurring eyes to follow a random line of text on the book’s open page, to think of anything other than Harold touching him.

“… this titanium product tends to be textured …” Textured? Textured. His mind played with the words and created a vision of Harold matter-of-factly producing a textured titanium butt plug from a drawer in the desk.

Minutes later John was in the library bathroom, biting his lip to keep quiet, panting through his nose as he pumped his cock in a tight fist. Harold’s hand gripping him? No. Harold watching him, directing him, pressing the titanium plug deeper into his ass as John erupted into his own fist. He caught the gush of cum in a wad of toilet paper.

Breathing hard in the aftermath he waited for his senses to knit back together. Did he hear footsteps out in the hall? Fuck. A shudder passed through him. This could never happen again, jerking off in the middle of the day, at the library. For one thing, Harold was too smart, too aware of everything for this behavior to escape notice. One time, he would probably get away with it.

He gave his face a splash and carefully washed his hands. He’d make a quick, casual exit once he’d shown himself calm and unruffled to Harold. If the man ever suspected … John knew he would never speak of it. It could never happen again.

**Author's Note:**

> I used the book title from the show but made up the quote, bastardizing an actual quote I found about titanium. The story isn't strictly rooted in the particular episode, just the season's atmosphere.


End file.
